


this is how it has to end

by armyofbees



Series: over time without a break [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Blood, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Metaphors, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, but like seriously this is dark, but this is MORE DARK than that, graphic descriptions of suicide i guess, hey look on the bright side there's even more jeremy messersmith, i have used that tag before, maria is Not Okay, sort of, that should be a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: Maria’s never been afraid of the razor. Well. That’s a lie, but it’s been a long time since she started calling it ‘friend’. Since her dad, since her mom, since James. Since forever.--Maria is a battlefield cloaked in red and white. She's ready to surrender.





	this is how it has to end

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'd like to say that this story especially is pretty graphic, so I'd just be careful. If you can't do suicide/self-harm and stuff of that ilk, this is not the best choice of reading material. Please, please, please just take care of yourself. Maria is in a very bad place, and suicide is never the right answer. Title is from [Death Bed Salesman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0ijh7DLNDQ) by Jeremy Messersmith. I couldn't find the non-live version on YouTube, so you can look it up if you wish. Enjoy!

Maria’s never been afraid of the razor. Well. That’s a lie, but it’s been a long time since she started calling it ‘friend’. Since her dad, since her mom, since James. Since forever.

She’s got battle scars all up and down her arms now, but it wasn’t really a battle because she didn’t really put up a fight. They’re not battle scars, they’re just reminders of defeat. But she didn’t lose, because there was never a battle in the first place. They’re signs of a  _ forfeit. _

A lot of them are white now, and she thinks it’s a fitting color. The color of surrender, the color of death. White is a cold color, and she’s cloaked in it.

She doesn’t want to leave a note. She doesn’t have it planned very well, but she knows that. It’s so ordinary, and besides, her writing’s always been terrible. She doesn’t think it would be the proper way to go out, not if she wants them to understand  _ why. _ (If she wants Eliza to understand why.)

Maria picks a day when her foster father is out, not because she’s worried about him. She picks it because it’s raining, and she knows how much Eliza loves the rain.

She’s standing on the roof, watching the yellow rain sink into her skin. She doesn’t plan to jump. She doesn’t think that would work, really, because it’s not a high roof. She doesn’t think it would be proper, either, because she doesn’t want it to go like that; with splayed limbs and crushed bones and a bloody face. She doesn’t want Eliza to find her like that.

The sky is gray but somehow it’s raining yellows and purples and blues and pinks. Maria thinks, with a smile, that it’s almost Easter.

Eventually, she climbs back in through the window, and starts the water. She pulls on her favorite dress, reads a chapter of an old book. The water overflows and she lets it run. She looks in the mirror, puts on some lipstick, and hopes that she looks okay.

She stops the water after it’s flooded the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bathtub. She has an audio recorder in one hand and a razor in the other, and she climbs into the water before she starts the recording. It’s cold.

“Hi,” she says, and her voice doesn’t sound quite right. She coughs and starts again, but after a few tries, it still doesn’t fit. She goes ahead anyway. “It’s me. I—I didn’t want to leave a note. My—my writing’s pretty bad, so I thought this might be better. You know, a last memento kind of thing. You always want your last work to be your best.” She laughs. “This isn’t gonna be the most eloquent, either, but… it’s better than my fumblings with a pen.”

She takes a deep breath, because suddenly she’s out of air. Maybe it’s the cold water, maybe it’s everything else, maybe it’s what she knows is coming. Her heart is beating too fast for her fragile ribcage.

“Sorry. I… I can’t really breathe right now, but I can’t really restart, either.” She pauses again, thinks over what she wants to say. “I… I don’t have a lot to say, but I’d like to say that… that this probably isn’t your fault. I know that Eliza will blame herself, but she shouldn’t. She’s done everything she can, but nothing was gonna be good enough. I think we both knew that. I think we both knew how this would end.

“And this is how it has to end, isn’t it? There isn’t gonna be a better way for me. Thing is, I think if I didn’t do this, someone else woulda offed me sooner or later. I’m just that kind of person, I guess. And I wouldn’t want to just live with this, either.”

She stops, allows herself a sneer. “There’s someone who deserves blame. Fuck you, James Reynolds. You won’t care, because you’re a fucking reptile, but this is because of you. I hope you at least catch wind of this. I hope you feel like shit for every time you called me worthless… You won’t.”

Maria sighs softly. “You won’t. And that’s okay. But I can hope, you know?”

A small smile draws itself across her features and she closes her eyes. “Anyway, Eliza, you remember what I say. Life’s a game you’re meant to lose, and look at me. I came in last. Or first, I guess, depending on how you’re looking at it.

“Um… I’m running out of room on this USB, and I don’t know when assface is gonna be back. I guess this is for him, too. So I guess this is goodbye. Kinda weird, when I think about it. But I’ve got my plan, so I gotta go through with it. Love you, ’Liza. Love somebody while you can, right?” She laughs quietly, sadly. “See you on the other side.”

Maria ends the recording, and then she sits for a while. The water’s growing more lukewarm by the second, and she doesn’t think she’ll be numb for much longer.

She sets the recording carefully on the corner of the tub and rolls up her sleeves. She picks up the razor, and the rest is easy. It doesn’t hurt like they said it would, and she’s only a little disappointed. She sets the razor next to the recorder, because nobody else needs to get hurt. She leans back in the tub, sets her arms on the sides, and watches.

Her skin is still colored from the rain outside, but the bathwater is red. Her blood is red. Her skin is staining. It’s okay, because red is her best color, and this way, it won’t stain her dress. (Her dress is red, like the water, like her skin, like her blood. She thinks it’s all so fitting.)

It takes a while, but she can feel herself draining. It’s not like it is in the movies. Dying. So few things are. It’s not a single moment, a last breath, a definite end. Maria read somewhere that it takes five minutes for the human brain to shut off after the heart stops. She thinks that makes sense.

Dying is like sleeping, only a little more final. She can’t really tell when she drifts off, and she can’t really tell that she’s even drifting. It’s slow, too. Her heart is still beating and her lungs are still breathing, but she’s going, going, going. Going like she’s in a dream.

She doesn’t have a last thought. She doesn’t have a last anything. All she has is a razor and a bathtub and a recording and the rain. All she has is—

Her five minutes are up.


End file.
